


The Story We Are Telling

by Cliophilyra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x10 coda, Chuck Shurley Being an Asshole, Declarations Of Love, Episode: s15e10 The Heroes' Journey, M/M, Memory Alteration, Revelations, Sudden Realisations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/pseuds/Cliophilyra
Summary: It’s in the car on the way back from Garth’s that Dean feels the first flicker of something different. He gets a text from Cas to say he’s at the bunker and the thought of getting home and finding Cas waiting for them -- for him, feels...good.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 136





	The Story We Are Telling

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you are all well and healthy. Look after each other and take care. I hope this is a bit cheering! Enjoy! Lots of love xxx

It’s in the car on the way back from Garth’s that Dean feels the first flicker of something different. He gets a text from Cas to say he’s at the bunker and the thought of getting home and finding Cas waiting for them-- for him, feels...good. Warm? It’s an unusual feeling, somehow both familiar and unfamiliar and faintly worrying, as if there was something forbidden about it.

He frowns and returns his concentration to the dark road ahead. Moments later however, when he catches himself again, he is thinking about Cas’s trench-coat and how much he wants to see it hanging up in the bunker again. How it feels to see Cas without his coat. That leads directly to more specific thoughts related to Cas without his coat...

He blinks in shock, his eyes dart nervously to Sam but he is apparently oblivious, eyes glued to his phone as he sniffs occasionally. Dean’s neck feels hot. He wonders if he is getting sick as well. He puts an inquisitive hand to his forehead, testing for a temperature. It seems normal but he still feels off in a way he can’t put his finger on. He clears his throat, tries to think of something to say but can’t.

Sam looks up. “That Cas?” he asks, gesturing to Dean’s phone.

Dean nods. “Yeah. He’s at home.” There’s that involuntary smile again.

“Cool.”

“It’s good, having him there,” Dean says tentatively.

Sam nods. “Yeah, it’s good having the gang back together.”

Dean frowns, that’s not exactly what he meant, but he’s not sure what he does mean. “I missed him,” he says.

“Hmm,” Sam replies with an absent nod.

They fall silent again.

***

When they finally drag ass into the bunker Dean has aches in muscles he didn’t even know he had. His shoulders are stiff from driving and Garth’s painkillers are starting to wear off. A dull ache in his gums is threatening to become major pain given time.

“Honey I’m home!” he calls out, then stops abruptly causing Sam to run into him.

“Watch it jerk,” Sam mumbles through stuffy sinuses. “I’m going to bed. I offically fucking hate colds.”

Dean nods, distracted. Something he just said was weird somehow but he can’t remember what.

He dumps his bag onto the map table and drops into a chair with a grunt and leans back, cursing Chuck and wishing he had the energy to go grab himself a beer.

How do people live like this? Or do they? He’s still not sure he believes Garth’s theory on the loss of their ‘Hero Mojo’ or whatever. He’s no fucking hero, he’s a grunt. Just a guy doing a messy job for no reward because it’s all he knows how to do. He’s hardly Captain fucking America, he’s just good at breaking heads.

Except now it turns out maybe he’s not. Maybe even that is just part of Chuck’s storybook bullshit. The truth is he’s terrified that there is no part of him that isn’t. This fresh and imaginative new hell just never stops piling on the existential dread.

He rubs his hands over his eyes as if he could scrub away the fear.

A sound from the doorway makes him look up and there’s Cas, smiling and holding two bottles of beer.

“See this is why you’re awesome,” Dean says with a grin, taking one of the bottles and twisting the cap. Sharp pain tears through his hand and he hisses in surprise, looking in disbelief at the ragged cut across his palm. “Oh you have got to be shitting me,” he snaps.

Cas reaches out silently and touches a finger to the wound, which vanishes in the warm glow of his grace. “Something’s different,” he says, taking the bottle from Dean and opening it easily.

“Uh yeah, we’ve been de-mojoed supposedly. Not sure I’m buying it but...” he tails off, looking down at his hand. He shrugs and takes a swig of the beer.

Cas raises his eyebrows as he takes a seat next to Dean. “De-mojoed?”

“We’re not “heroes” any more,” Dean says, making air quotes.

Cas frowns. “In what way?”

As Dean opens his mouth to explain the events of the day he finds himself wondering why he has never noticed Cas’s eyes before. Were they always this stunning? How would he have missed that? Cas is so beautiful. When he looks at him he feels utter peace, like nothing he has ever experienced. His hand twitches, he wants to reach out for him.

_I’m in love with Cas._

Something in his mind moves like a camera shifting focus and his skin feels suddenly too small and too hot. He shifts in his seat, coughing to cover up his panic.

Cas’s eyes widen suddenly, he opens his mouth to speak and Dean jumps to his feet. “I gotta...” he turns on his heel and heads to his room as fast as he can without actually running away.

***

Dean sits on his bed, eyes wide, heart pounding. What the hell? He’s in _love_ with Cas? When did that happen? Cas is his best friend and also, perhaps more importantly, a dude. Or at least dude-adjacent. So why does he feel like he’s been in love with Cas for years?

The world refocuses again and suddenly everything is pin sharp.

He’s in love with Cas. He lets out a deep breath. He knows this, it’s nothing new or shocking. Dean is bisexual, always has been. He has been attracted to guys plenty of times, it’s just part of who he is. He’s Dean Winchester; he hunts monsters, he loves his brother and his car, and he is in love with Castiel, sometime angel of the lord.

He can’t remember what he was panicking about. This is the way things have been for years. But, wonders a small voice at the back of his mind, had things been like this for years _yesterday_?

His head hurts. He drops back onto the bed, lying on his back, staring up at the bare ceiling. He glances at the small row of worn paperbacks on the shelf above his head. One of them, its spine turned to the wall where it can’t catch his eye, is Chuck’s. He’s not sure why he kept it. Maybe because he thought it would be nice to see himself as a hero sometimes? But it had never worked, he’d always felt uncomfortable reading them because the man in the books with his name was entirely him, except he wasn’t.

This book is called Tall Tales. It’s different to the others, told from both his and Sam’s perspective as they each described the same events to Bobby when he turned up just in time to stop the Trickster from driving them to fratricide.

He opens the book and flips to the scene where Sam found him drinking Purple Nurples in the college bar with the coed, who he still maintains was definitely – probably – called something way classier than Starla. He remembers her, a hazy impression of a blonde who, he is now prepared to admit, may have been less hot than he thought at the time. But he also remembers...Jake? Joe? Definitely a J name anyway. Also potentially less hot than the beer goggles had suggested but cute, funny, flirty. He remembers his hand on his ass and something probably filthy, but sadly inaudible over the music, being whispered in his ear. It was him that he’d been talking to when Sam had appeared with his disapproving act, not Starla. He has always known that but he is also just realising it for the first time.

***

He’s relieved to find Cas still sitting at the map table, staring blankly at the bottle in his hand.

“I love you,” Dean says immediately. He realises it sounds faintly accusatory, as if it were a secret Cas had been keeping from him. “I’m _in love_ with you and you’re in love with me.”

Cas looks up and nods.

“But we didn’t know. Or, we did know but we...forgot?”

Cas nods again, his eyes narrowed. “I think we weren’t allowed to know? It wasn’t part of the story He wanted to tell.”

“What changed?”

“You’re not His heroes any more.”

Cas gets up and walks towards Dean with a look of purpose that he hasn’t seen in years. He reaches out, gripping the sides of Dean’s face with both hands. Dean closes his eyes, feeling the buzz of grace spilling from Cas’ fingertips, spreading electricity through his body. When he kisses him it’s hard, fierce and demanding, almost angry. Dean understands, he feels the fury too even as he kisses back. He’s been lied to, for his whole life, about his whole life, all for the sake of Chuck’s narrative. But as he lets himself sink against Cas’ lips, lets himself feel the fire of his hands on his skin, it’s as if every distorted version of himself, every false narrative, slides right back together and he knows _exactly_ who he is.

This is real. _We_ are real.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave a comment - comments = joy at the moment :-) x
> 
> I’m on Tumblr at [cliophilyra](https://cliophilyra.tumblr.com) Come and say hi! I love when people say hi :)


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